Somnambulist

I had this dream last night, woke me up half-way through. I wasn’t sweating or anything dramatic like that. In fact, I practically dozed right off again—but it was enough to stir. A see-saw. Some far-off playground. A xylophone bangs out a Latin beat and I’m groovin’ as I play.

That’s how my mind works, I guess.

I don’t know where the dream went after that, how I got there—I don’t know why I ever thought I should wake up in the first place. All those cups’a coffee never did a thing for me, anyway. Yawwnnn. Now I’m all jittery, and everything’s up in the air.

That’s how my life works, I suppose.

Check out my kaleidoscope. Makes everything funny, right? Look like this. See those colors? I swear they weren’t there before. Shhhh. You don’t see them? Waves roll over. My thoughts are out’ta see-a gain. Shhhhh.

De-leery us. Yawwwnnnn.

Hey! Can you hear that? Sounds nice.

So strange, I couldn’t hear a thing

a s e c o n d a g o…

Shhhhh

Ha-hathat’s a good one.

Back to sleep now,

dream’s not over yet.

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Kiddo

For just a second, a strong gust pushes me off balance. I slip, my foot careens over the cliff’s edge. A warm tingle overtakes my senses. Far off, another me lays at the bottom of the cliff—a watch his matted hair stretch along jagged rock, seep into the sea. I’m not sure which “me” I’d prefer to be; I never bothered learning too much about myself.

When they sleep, sometimes I sneak outside and wander around in the darkness. Warm tingles.

During the day, I sleep—mostly. Sometimes I watch waves tumble over rocks from my bedroom window. Everything’s always moving.

Wanna know a secret? If I had a super power—I’d freeze the whole world. The waves, the wind, everybody and me.

I know how to smile…but I wouldn’t want to be frozen like that. They say your face’ll get stuck that way. I wouldn’t want to be angry, either. I just want to look like me, I guess. I don’t have to be making a face, do I?

The other kids don’t come around. But I don’t really like them, either. For fun, I like to play a game where I used my super power on them.

Hah! They’ll never leave their houses again unless I say so! Have fun watching waves from your windows!

I spread my arms and balance along the cliff’s edge, daring another gust to push me into the other me. It doesn’t, or my super power won’t let it. The wind dies down almost completely—what if I really do have super powers?

I’m bored.

In an instant, I’m back inside and staring at the waves from my window. The wind picks up again.

Maybe everything freezes when I go outside, and starts again when I come back inside. Maybe it’s me.

Next to my bedroom window, I watch everything move along as it should. The other me comes loose from the rock and slips softly into the sea.

andante con moto

Mine meet the painting man’s eyes, “you read too much.” He says. He used to be a jazz musician. I crook a smile, embellish a nod, and refill my right ear with Mendelssohn. He stares agape for a moment–saturnine eyes droop, catch themselves, then fix upright again. He takes a thin brush from robin’s egg-colored water and continues his piece.

Violins drift in quiescence, flute-float and reach a surfeit of colorful bassoons and trumpets before they tumble back to simple notes. The blue-haired girl behind the jazz player has buttons in the back of her shirt. She reads andante con moto and flicks her wrist as she goes. She turns a page and the jazz player looks askance, first at her, then me, then back to his work.

I want to feel something, but the words of this story are so far flat. From the window, a boy wanders in circles as he takes pulls from a cigarette, and I let go a sigh. I shouldn’t be reading this much.

I should be writing.

I should be writing.
I should be writing.

A strong wind knocks the smoking boy and his smoke-line off-balance, the first of the season. The Mendelssohn piece ends. I should read to something else; something lighter. I should write. I watch the jazz player use a toothpick to dot black on his canvas. The blue-haired girl’s wrist twirls and dances to the words of her paperback. I pack my bag and leave.